Symphonie Fantastique
by micbb
Summary: John Smith and Martha attend a London Symphony Orchestra concert, and, much to Martha's chagrin, John seems to be paying more attention to one of the musicians than to her.
1. Chapter 1

**When I study or do school work, I like to listen to my favourite classical (that's classical with a lower-case 'c', mind you) pieces, and I thought this might be an interesting idea for a fanfiction. Those of you who are familiar with Symphony Orchestras will know that this is not how a performance usually goes down, but in the interest of...making it interesting, it will be a bit different than usual.  
This won't be a long fic either, probably just one other chapter - two at most - but it's fun to write and hopefully enjoyable to read. **

Martha stared at herself in the mirror for several minutes.

What was a girl supposed to wear to a symphony? She turned to she could have a look at her backside. It did look rather good in these trousers, she mused, although she'd be sitting all evening, so not like it would make much of a difference…

With a sigh, she finally decided to keep the trousers. She was starting to run low on time anyway. John would be expecting her at the theatre any second. She threw on her maroon leather jacket over a frilly white top and untucked her hair. Quickly, she zipped up a pair of black booties with a small heel. And took off to meet John.

* * *

It was only a 15-minute tube ride, but Martha found herself anxiously checking her watch, nervous that he would be waiting impatiently for her. She tapped her foot on the ground, earning herself several annoyed looks from other passengers, which she decidedly ignored.

When her stop finally came, she practically flew out of the car and up the stairs to street level, feeling her heart beating excitedly in her chest. Her first date with John. She took a deep breath when she reached the top of the stairs, then walked casually to the theatre.

She caught a glimpse of him easily – well dressed in a tight, brown pin-stripped suit that practically had her drooling and a long brown trench coat. She noted with amusement that he was practically bouncing on the balls of his converse-clad feet. Trust John to wear converse with a suit.

"John!" She called when she was close enough, waving when he turned towards her voice. He grinned widely at her and quite positively skipped towards her in his excitement.

"Martha! Thank you so much for coming!" He said excitedly. "No one else was available tonight! _Weeeeelllll_ , that's probably not true, they probably didn't want to be rude and just plain say no," he continued, tugging on his ear thoughtfully with the hand that was not tucked into his trouser pocket. Martha raised her eyebrows, amused. "Let's go in!" He said enthusiastically. He took his hand out of his pocket, and for a moment Martha's heart leaped in her chest when she thought he might take her hand, but he just straightened out his jacket and started to walk towards the door.

She felt a slight pang of disappointment, but shrugged it off and followed him in. When they were inside the beautiful concert hall, Martha went towards the ticket line, looking to make sure John was following her. To her surprise, he walked right past the line, two tickets already in hand. She jogged to catch up with him. "You didn't have to buy mine, John." She told him, though she was thrilled he had.

"Ooooooh, of course I did! I invited you!" John replied cheerfully, handing the two tickets to the usher, who ripped off the stubs and handed the tickets back with a smile, directing them to the correct aisle.

"Well in that case," Martha grinned as she followed him down the aisle, "did you get us good seats?"

"Best in the house!" John told her playfully, finding their row and walking to the middle before carefully removing his coat and plopping himself down gracelessly. They were rather close to the stage, where more chairs and music stands than Martha had thought there would be were carefully lined up. John pulled out a program from his pocket, opening it and reading it carefully, a wide grin on his face.

The concert hall filled up quickly, to Martha's surprise, which she expressed to John.

He gave her a puzzled look. "Martha, it's the London Symphony Orchestra. They sell out most of their shows! I thought you said you were a big fan?"

"I meant more of the genre," Martha covered quickly, ignoring John's raised eyebrows. In truth, she didn't know much about classical music at all, and knew next to nothing about the London Symphony Orchestra, but when John had invited her to a concert she'd immediately said yes, because she'd been flirting and waiting for him to ask her out for _ages_.

"You'll love this, then," John said. "Composer was brilliant – bit of an opium addict, but absolutely fantastic. That's what the symphony tonight is called, by the way. _Symphonie Fantastique_! Great name, that. 'Fantastic Symphony'." He continued to ramble, giving her a long and detailed history of the music as the hall continued to fill.

When they had been seated for about ten minutes, the musicians started to fill the stage, each finding their designated seat and carefully sitting, instruments in hand. Martha could identify most of them – the obvious ones, anyway, like the violins and the cellos, the clarinets, the trumpets, the flutes, the tiny flute that she knew had a different name but couldn't remember at the time being, the trombones, the tubas. She found herself surprised, however, that there seemed to be several instruments she didn't recognize. She felt inclined to ask John, maybe lean in and whisper the question into his ear, but felt her cheeks heat up as she realized that if she did so she would basically be telling him that she knew nothing about the genre after all.

She watched, brow furrowed, as a single instrument played a note, and then every single musician seemed to play the same note. She watched as many played for only a few seconds before pulling away, adjusting something on their respective instrument, then playing again. They were tuning their instruments, Martha realized, fascinated, as they all repeated it twice more. She found herself in awe of the musicians, that they could hear their own instrument amongst the noise and adjust it to match pitch perfectly.

She turned to John, to remark on how they were all quite well versed in tuning themselves, hoping to impress him with what little knowledge she had, but found he wasn't looking at her. He wasn't even looking at the entire orchestra, like she thought he might – she could imagine his wide eyes darting around the stage, taking every inch of it in.

But no, his eyes were fixed in one direction, and when she followed it, she found her eyes landed on a young girl.

She appeared to be in her early twenties, with wavy bleached-blonde hair, the front section of which was tied back into a pouf that accented a kind face and a wide mouth. She was seated on the edge of the stage, making her one of the most visible people on the stage. She had a violin in one hand and a bow in the other. Like the rest of the orchestra, she was dressed in black, though unlike most of the girls Martha could see, she was not wearing a skirt, but rather tight black pants and a fitted black shirt.

She looked at John, opening her mouth to ask if he knew her, but he seemed to think she was asking something else and opened the program, showing him a picture of the blonde, who had her violin to her cheek and seemed to be quite engrossed in whatever she was playing. Martha looked up at him in question to find him starting at her again, awe in his gaze.

"Rose Tyler," he said, sounding breathless. "One of the most talented musicians the London Symphony Orchestra has ever seen. She's also one of the youngest players in the whole orchestra – she's only twenty-two, Martha! Twenty-two years old and the lead violin in the London Symphony Orchestra. And incredibly humble! I was watching an interview on the telly a few days ago – doesn't take any credit. Really brilliant."

"Oh," Martha replied, dumbfounded. "I thought you might know her, the way you were looking at her."

"Know her? She's…" he trailed off slightly before continuing. "No, I don't know her. Wish I did, though! That'd be brilliant, if I did. Just brilliant." He seemed to continue to want to talk, but the lights dimmed, cueing the start of the show. Martha was actually rather relieved. She didn't want to spend the whole date talking about some blonde he wished he knew.

The entire orchestra stood at attention rather suddenly as an older gentlemen came out. He seemed to be in his fifties or sixties, with white hair, a receding hairline, and a rather serious expression. His pants were quite possibly the oddest part of his ensemble – a plaid yellowy-gold colour, only partially visible under a formal black tailcoat. Martha thought she caught a glimpse of a gold waistcoat, but he turned too quickly for her to notice. She did, however, notice the silky-looking ribbon that was tied around his neck in place of a conventional tie, or even a bowtie.

John inconspicuously pointed to a name on the program. Doctor William Hartnell. Doctor Hartnell took a sweeping bow before stepping onto a small podium with a large musical stand covered in books. Music, Martha assumed.

He lifted his hands, palms down, and the entire orchestra sat except for the violinist – Rose Tyler, who put her foot on the base of her stand and extended it so that it was much taller – more suitable for reading music while standing.

Martha noticed that John's hands were positively shaking with excitement as he pointed to the program again.

 _Violin Concerto in E Minor, Opus 64, J.L. Felix Mendolssohn_

 _Solo Violin: Rose Tyler_

* * *

Martha could admit (although slightly bitterly) that Rose Tyler was a very talented musician. She seemed to capture the eyes of everyone watching the concert, and Martha swore she saw a few mouths hanging open) as she soulfully played the piece, the bow of the violin seeming like an extension of her arm as it danced up and down, hitting the strings to create a perfect sound before quickly and expertly darting to the next note. Even Martha, who knew next to nothing about classical music, could feel the emotion of the piece, and she watched, slightly awed, as Rose Tyler's eyes shut for several minutes, feeling the piece rather than reading it.

She didn't like, however, that John was practically melting in his seat, his eyes never leaving the talented blonde for a second.

Towards the end of the piece, Rose's bow was moving faster than Martha thought was possible, the music going at a speed that seemed incredibly fast, but Rose Tyler didn't seem flustered. Instead, there was a small smile on her face as she continued to play moving along with the music in a way that seemed like she was almost keeping time with her movements. Martha could almost tell that the young musician was no longer aware that she had an audience – she was playing for herself, making quick head and body movements that Martha had only ever seen professional players do on TV – she hadn't realized that musicians actually moved so much when they played.

The peace finished with a flourish and a wide smile on Rose Tyler's part, and to Martha's embarrassment, John was one of the first people on his feet, giving her a standing ovation that was quickly followed by much of the crowd. Martha hesitantly got to her feet, clapping far less enthusiastically than her date.

As Rose Tyler shook hands with the conductor – a formality, Martha assumed - he leaned over to whisper something to her, which made the blonde smile widely and laugh before bowing her head and returning to her seat, fixing her stand as she did so.

"Was that the Fantastic Symphony?" Martha leaned over, getting rather close to John so he could hear her, but he still had to lean slightly to one side to be able to hear anything over the clapping.

To her surprise, he shook his head, still clapping. He leaned in close enough that she could feel the tickle of his gravity-defying hair brush against her before saying, "No, that was an opening concerto. A brilliant one, if you ask me. The symphony is next." When he leaned away (still clapping!) Martha noticed a perplexed look on his face, and felt a blush rise to her cheeks when she remembered that she'd told him she knew all about classical music.

It was several minutes before the audience finally took it's seat, and Martha breathed a sigh of relief when she finally plopped back into her padded chair. The orchestra took a few minutes to rearrange itself – members leaving the stage, coming onto the stage, switching seats.

Soon, everyone was back in place (though the conductor was gone, Martha noticed with confusion), and it seemed the second part of the concert was about to begin. She looked over at John, and realized that his eyes were still directed at Rose Tyler, a wide grin on his face. With a huff, she settled back into her seat.

 **Please review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2! Only one more after this, folks.**

When it was finally time for the second piece to begin, Martha noticed that there was still no sign of the conductor. She was about to ask John when once again, Rose Tyler stood from her seat, very, very carefully placed her violin down on it, and Rose to the podium. She turned to the audience and gave a wide smile with a small bow, much like Doctor Hartnell had done at the beginning of the concert.

As she riffled through the music on the stand in front of her, the orchestra once again tuned itself to perfection before anything began. Once Rose Tyler was satisfied with the lay out of the music, she disembarked from the small platform and moved to a podium on the left side of the stage, capturing the attention of her audience with a single smile.

"Good evening," Rose said with a smile, her eyes sweeping over the room. "I hope you're all enjoying the performance thus far. My name is Rose Tyler, I'm the first violin for the orchestra. Tonight, however, I have the privilege of conducting one of my favourites pieces. _Symphonie Fantastique_ by the great Mr. Hector Berlioz. I'll be reading to you now the preface written by Mr. Berlioz in the score.

"'Our story begins with a talented young musician, who, lost in despair because of an unrequited love, poisons himself with opium. The drug doesn't kill him; rather he is plunged into heavy sleep with strange hallucinations. His visions become musical ideas, and his beloved becomes an _idée fixe_ , a recurring theme, that haunts the dreams.

"'In the first movement, he remembers that weariness of the soul, that indefinable longing, that somber melancholia and those objectless joys which he experienced before meeting his beloved. Then the volcanic love with which she at once inspired him, his delirious suffering, his return to tenderness, his religious consolations.

"'In the second, in the midst of a noisy fête, he finds his beloved again.

"'In the third, on a summer evening in the country, he hears two herders calling each other with their shepherd melodies. The pastoral duet in such surroundings, the gentle rustle of the trees softly swayed by the wind, some reason for hope which had come to his knowledge recently – all unite fill his heart with a rare tranquility and lend brighter colours to his fancies. But his beloved appears anew, spasms contract his heart, and he is filled with dark premonition. What if she proved faithless? Only one of the shepherds resumes his rustic tune. The sun sets. Far away there is rumbling thunder – solitude – silence.

"'In the fourth, _March to the Scaffold_ , He dreams he has killed his loved one, that he is condemned to death and led to his execution. A march, now gloomy and ferocious, now solemn and brilliant accompanies the procession. Noisy outbursts are followed without pause by the heavy sound of measured footsteps. Finally, like the last thought of love, the _idée fixe_ appears for a moment, to be cut off by the fall of the axe.

"'Lastly, the fifth: He sees himself at a Witches Sabbath surrounded by a fearful crowd of specters, sorcerers, and monsters of every kind, united for his burial. Unearthly sounds, groans, shrieks of laughter, distant cries, to which other seem to respond! The melody of his beloved is heard, but it has lost its character of nobility and reserve. Instead, it is now an ignoble dance tune. Trivial and grotesque. It is she who comes to the Sabbath! A shout of joy greets her arrival. She joins the diabolical orgy. The funeral knell, burlesque of the _Dies Irae_. Dance of the Witches. The dance and the _Dies Irae_ combined.'

"I truly hope you all enjoy the piece." Rose Tyler soundless closed the book in front of her and carried it back to the podium, reopening it and placing it carefully on the stand.

With little flourish, she brought both her hands up, forsaking the usual baton and seemingly preferring to use her hands alone. The musicians brought their instruments to their respective positions, ready to go, and Rose brought down her hands and the music began at once.

At first, Martha could understand why John liked the piece. It was smooth and sensual, and at one point Martha felt chills run down her spine at the perfection. The violin bows were moving in perfect synchrony. Eventually, John leaned in to tell her what the recurring theme was, and she took pride in that she was able to pick it out every once in a while.

Martha soon felt John tapping his feet in a way that felt like a waltz, and she realized that they must be at the ballroom scene, where the composer would find the girl he liked again. The music was calm and soothing for a long while afterwards, and Martha felt her head bobbing in time with the music. She looked over at John, who was grinning madly as he watched Rose Tyler expertly (from what Martha could tell) conduct the piece, both of her hands moving and her head lifting and bending, both watching and cueing the musicians but also reading the music ont the stand in front of her.

Soon, Martha realized the feel of the music had changed, no longer a cheerfully airy piece but a darker, lower faster paced theme seems to arise and she could see Rose Tyler's movements becoming more aggressive. Martha could feel anticipation building in her and realized then that it was because of the quality of the performance – they had her on the edge of her seat.

John's foot tapping helped Martha once again learn where she is – it is a march, undeniably, the composer is being marched to the guillotine. The music soon became so aggressive Martha felt her heart speeding up in her chest as she watched the musicians (unlike John, who's eyes hadn't left the single figure of Rose Tyler all night). Martha swore she heard the recurring theme once more before a loud _bang_ made her jump, and she realized that the composer had just been beheaded.

The part of the piece left Martha unsettled as she listened, as though she couldn't quite understand the strange sounds the orchestra was making.

By the end of the piece, she was quite confused – the last part had been mostly dark and creepy sounds, but the ending was strangely triumphant, and Martha felt the perplexed expression on her face even as she followed John to another standing ovation.

There was a lot of bowing that followed. Rose Tyler turned to the crowd first, a wide, satisfied grin on her lips as she bowed deeply. She then turned to the orchestra and motioned for them to stand, gesturing to them widely and clapping as they bowed.

The clapping lasted for much longer than Martha would have anticipated from the audience, and she was rather relieved when John finally picked up his coat and the crowd started making its way out of the concert hall.

"Wasn't that brilliant?" John exclaimed when they were back in the lobby of the beautiful building. He didn't give Martha time to respond before continuing, "I thought that was brilliant. Just brilliant."

"Yeah, it was really good," Martha smiled at him, toying with the sleeve of her leather jacket. Now was the time that he should invite her out for tea, or coffee…it was only 10PM, still early enough to crab a nice cuppa.

Musicians – noticeable in their black ensembles – starting filing into the lobby as well, many rushing over to guests and giving them hugs. Some were given congratulatory flowers by parents or boyfriends or girlfriends, others simply received hugs or handshakes, but the mood was happy and cheerful in the lobby as more and more bodies squeezed their way in.

"Be right back," John said to Martha before quickly weaving his way through the throng of people. Martha lost sight of him almost immediately.

* * *

John twisted and turned his way through the crowd, his eyes set on one person.

She was sitting on a bench against the back wall, inconspicuous and unnoticed, mobile in her hand and a frown pinching her eyebrows together as she looked at it.

Carefully, he sat next to her, making her look up at him in surprise.

"Hello," John said with a wide smile.

She tentatively returned it. "Hi."

"You were really brilliant tonight, Miss Tyler. I'm a big fan." He told her, hoping he didn't sound too obnoxious or star struck.

She smiled back, wider this time. "That's very kind of you, Mr…?" She trailed off, looking him over quickly.

Oh! "Smith! John Smith." He replied with another smile, offering his hand.

A perfectly plucked eyebrow raised at his name, a reaction he was very used to – no one really expected someone to actually be named John Smith – and took his hand in hers, shaking it. He reveled for a second in the feeling of her hand in his, and at how well they seemed to fit together. "Mr. Smith. And call me Rose, please."

"Rose," He tested out the name, liking the way it felt on his tongue. "So, Rose, I can't help but notice that you're sitting here, alone, while everyone is meeting with their families," he raised his eyebrows at her, waggling them in an attempt to get her to laugh.

It worked. She let out a small chuckle at the sight of him, making that wide grin reappear on his face. "My mum's picking me up a bit later." She responded, looking down at her phone again quickly before lifting her head to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he was transfixed. Her eyes were like liquid honey, with a soft and sweet gaze that he found himself melting into. Suddenly she was looking at him in question, and John realized that she'd said something.

"What?" He mumbled, feeling his ears turn pink and watching as the corners of her mouth curved upwards, amused.

"I asked if you were here alone. Bit unusual, that," she repeated for him, offering him a wide, toothy smile. He felt his eyes widen when he saw her tongue on the tip of her canine.

He gave his head a quick shake, "Um…no…I…" She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to form a sentence. "Sorry. No. No, I'm here with my friend." He finally sputtered out, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. "In fact, I should probably get back. Just wanted to say congratulations." He said quickly, moving to stand up.

He felt a slight bit of guilty pleasure in his chest when he saw her face fall slightly, only to be replaced with a polite smile. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Smith." And with that she returned her gaze to her mobile.

Once on his feet, he hesitated slightly, shifting his weight between the two nervously. Just ask her, he encouraged himself. "Rose…"he started, feeling as though his face must be burning red. She looked up immediately, meeting his brown eyes with her whiskey coloured ones. "Would you maybe…I dunno, like to grab a cuppa with me? Not tonight, obviously, but sometime?" He finally blurted out.

She gave him another tongue-touched smile, making him feel slightly light-headed at its brilliance. "I'd like that a lot," she replied, making him grin widely and sit back down. "Have you got a mobile?" She asked him. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his mobile, unlocked it, and handed it to her.

She quickly typed in her information before handing it back to him with a smile.

He grinned at her before taking off to find Martha.

* * *

Martha let out an annoyed huff and finally decided to take off in the direction that John had gone. He'd disappeared several minutes ago and she was starting to get frustrated.

She moved quickly through the crowd, paying less attention to where she was going than she should have been as she kept her eyes peeled for a head of tousled brown hair. She felt a body collide with hers and stumbled back a few steps, slightly dazed.

It was a young woman, probably around the same age as her, with bleached blonde hair and a wide smile. "Sorry," Martha said, her eyes widening when she saw whom she'd ran into. "You're Rose Tyler, right? Good job tonight."

"Um," Rose straightened out, "Thanks." She finally smiled.

"Listen, my date came this way, and I haven't seen him in a few minutes…he said he'd be right back. You haven't seen him, have you?" Martha asked the blonde, thinking that John might have come over to introduce himself to the musician he admired so much. "He's wearing a brown suit and trench coat, and he's got this great hair – brown hair. Sound familiar?"

Rose frowned, and Martha thought she could see some confusion and disappointment in her gaze. She was about to ask the blonde what was wrong when she heard John call her name from near the doors. She smiled at Rose and gave her a quick, "got to dash, sorry," before taking off to meet her date.

* * *

"You wouldn't have believed it," Martha groaned before taking a sip of her tea. "He just kept staring at her! While on a date with me! Talk about rude." She grumbled after swallowing her scalding sip.

She was sitting with her friend, Jack, in her favourite café, not two blocks from her flat. He'd messaged her in the morning, asking if she was free for coffee, and she'd jumped at the chance of having someone listen to her complain about the disappointing date that had happened two nights ago.

She watched as Jack frowned, but said nothing, taking a sip of his coffee. She wrinkled her nose at the smell – she'd never been a big coffee fan, but her American friend drank it all the time and she'd been forced to adapt.

"Martha…" Jack said a few seconds later, his eyebrows pinched into a frown as he seemed to choose his words carefully. "Are you sure it was a date?"

She looked at him as though he were daft. "'Course it was a date," she rolled her eyes. "He asked me out, just the two of us."

"I asked you out for coffee, just the two of us, and it isn't a date." Jack pointed out. He didn't want to sound mean or harsh, but he was absolutely sure that John had not meant their outing to be a date. He had, as far as Jack knew, absolutely no interest in Martha other than as a friend, which she seemed blindly oblivious to.

"That's different," Martha insisted.

"How?" Jack asked, taking another sip of his coffee before putting the ceramic mug on the table and meeting her eyes with a kind face.

"He…he invited me to go to the _symphony_ , Jack. You don't take a friend to the _symphony_."

Jack sighed. "Martha, do you know how many people he invited to the symphony? I'm pretty sure he texted everyone in his contacts."

"But…" Martha frowned, suddenly unsure of what to say. Surely she hadn't completely misread things between her and John.

 **Review, please :)**


	3. Chapter 3

_Are you free Tuesday morning?_

Rose stared at the text message on her phone, unsure of what to do. He'd seemed nice, this John Smith. He'd taken the time to seek her out after the concert to congratulate her and to get her number. He'd seemed friendly.

And then that woman had bumped into her, looking for her date. And the description sounded remarkably like her John Smith. She remembered John telling her that he was at the concert with a friend, but if the woman was saying date.

Rose let out a frustrated groan, muffling it with a couch cushion. It was Sunday now, and she didn't have rehearsal today, which she almost wished she did – it would certainly help take her mind off things.

Tea. She'd make tea.

She rose from her couch and walked over to her tiny kitchen, putting water on her kettle and switching it on. She folded her arms on the edge of the counter top and rested her chin on her forearms, eyes on the kettle, willing it to boil faster.

When it had finally boiled, she grabbed the largest mug she owned and carefully fill it with water, adding a bag of her favourite tea, a bit of sugar, and a dash of milk. The smell helped ease tension out of her shoulders and she carefully carried it back to her seat on the couch. She purposefully ignored her phone, opting to reach instead for the TV remote. She flipped through the channels aimlessly, and was rather disappointed when nothing of any interest seemed to be playing. She grabbed a second remote and turned on Netflix – going directly to her guilty pleasure – Grey's Anatomy.

Her phone buzzed again, and, with a sigh, she grabbed it and clicked on the new message.

 _I was thinking we could grab a cuppa. I know a place._

Rose stared at the message for a while, the tea burning her fingers through the ceramic mug, a feeling she ignored, instead opting to take a sip and hum contently.

She had to answer, she knew. It would be dreadfully rude not to.

 _That would be nice_.

* * *

She was late.

Oh, she hated being late to anything. She walked as quick as her legs would allow, half jogging as she made her way to the coffee shop John had suggested. She'd made the mistake of not double checking the address until the last minute, and realized that it was actually significantly further than she'd originally thought.

In her fluster, she'd put on two different styles of socks, which, while barely visible under her trousers and runners, was really annoying her.

She breathed a sign of relief when she saw the sign for the café, slowing her pace so that she wouldn't be hyperventilating when she got there. As she walked by the window, she saw John sitting at one of the tables, hugging a large mug, a frown on his face.

The _ding_ of the door made him look up, and the frown disappeared as soon as he spotted her. She made her way directly over to where he was sitting, slipped off the simple jean jacket she'd been wearing and placed it over the back of her chair. "Sorry," She said sheepishly.

John smiled widely at her, and her heart did a little backflip. "It's no problem." He assured her, taking in her red cheeks and nose, and messy hair.

Self consciously, she smoothed her wild hair as best as she could with her hands before grabbing her wallet. "I'll, um, be right back," she said quickly before heading over to the counter to order a cuppa. She waited there while the barista expertly prepared it, and left a large tip before heading back over to where John was sitting, the delicious scent of the tea calming her nerves and the heat of the mug warming her chilled fingers.

She placed it down carefully, sitting across from John, and took a small sip, holding in a moan at the taste. That tip had been well deserved.

She looked up to meet John's eyes, which were already on her, and felt a blush rise in her cheeks. "Um…have you been here long?" Rose asked nervously, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

"Not long," John replied easily. "Got here maybe a few minutes before you. I'd have ordered your tea for you, but…" he tugged his earlobe, "I didn't know how you took it."

She smiled at him, earning a grin in response. "That's all right then," she mused, getting a chuckle from him and feeling a warm feeling spread in her stomach. "How was the rest of your weekend?"

John sipped at his cuppa before giving an enthusiastic nod. "Good, good. Had to work on Sunday, but overall it wasn't too bad."

"Do you normally work on weekends?" Rose asked him curiously.

"Weeeeelllll," he dragged the word out, making her smile, which she hid by taking a sip of the cuppa in front of her. "Every now and again, I suppose."

This peaked Rose's interest. "Where do you work?"

"At the university," John replied enthusiastic. "I'm a research assistant for one of the professors."

"What field?"

"Astronomy." John smiled widely. "Always loved the stars, me."

Rose nodded thoughtfully.

"What about you?" John asked suddenly. "How's the life of the successful musician?"

Rose felt her cheeks redden again. "I wouldn't say –" She started, only to be interrupted by John's raised eyebrows. She was sure her whole face was a violent shade of red at this point. "I'm just lucky, is all." She said quietly.

"Lucky?" John repeated. "What I saw the other night wasn't luck. It was talent. And a lot, I'm a assuming, of practicing."

"Well, I suppose," Rose muttered uncomfortably. She cleared her throat. "Speaking of the other night…that girl you were with…was that…your girlfriend?" She finally managed to say, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

John choked on a sip of his tea before looking at her in shock. "You…you thought…what? No!" He sputtered ungracefully.

Her face probably looked like a bloody tomato. "Oh. Sorry, it's just…that girl that you were with…she said…she said you were her date, so I just…assumed." She kept her eyes on her tea as she spoke, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

"Rose, look at me." He said, his voice amused, but she thought she detected some nervousness in it. She slowly looked up, meeting his warm chocolate gaze. "I don't have a girlfriend. That girl that I was with, Martha, is definitely just my mate."

Rose felt a smile grow on her lips. "Yeah?" She asked quietly.

"Absolutely," John promised with a smile. "I wouldn't ask you out if I was already dating someone."

Rose breathed a sigh of relief before giving him a smile, tongue touching her canine. "Well that's good, then." She said playfully, her entire demeanor changing now that she knew that she was absolutely not on a date with someone who was already taken.

The rest of the conversation flowed easily from there – they talked about John's research, about her practicing, and just about everything in between. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so much in one sitting, and he couldn't remember ever smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

Her smile fell when she caught sight of the time on his wristwatch. "I have to go," she said glumly, trying not to be too happy about his disappointed look. "I promised my mum I'd babysit my younger brother."

His smile fell, but he graciously stood when she did and helped her slip on her jacket. He even fixed her hair after it was settled properly on her shoulders, making yet another blush rise to her cheeks.

"Can I…maybe…walk you home?" He asked with a small, hopeful smile.

She returned his smile with one of her own. "That'd be nice." She told him, biting her lip.

When they left the café, John tentatively took her hand, holding it loosely and giving her plenty of time to shake it off. Instead, she tightened her grip, giving his hand a small squeeze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grin widely.

The walk back to her flat was significantly longer than the one to the shop, because they ambled along, taking their time and filling the walk with pointless conversation and jokes. At one point, they actually had to stop because John had Rose laughing so hard she had to stop and clutch her stomach, making him laugh and grin widely with pride.

When they finally reached her flat, she felt disappointment start to bloom in her stomach at the thought of him leaving, but she plastered a grin on her face and cheerfully said, "this is me."

He stopped, looking up at the building and then back down to her, and she thought she might be able to see disappointment in his eyes as well.

"Well, Rose Tyler," the way he said her full name made a shiver of anticipation run through her whole body, and she bit her lip as she looked up at him, noticing, not for the first time today, the cute freckles that were sprinkled across his nose and the warm look in his eyes. "I had a lot of fun," he said quietly, standing close enough to her that her had both her elbows cupped in his palms, and her hands gently clasped onto his forearms.

"Me too," she breathed, her gaze momentarily lowering to his lips before lifting to meet his eyes again.

He leaned in slowly, giving her enough time to back away, but she met him in the middle, their lips pressing softly together, molding together perfectly. She could taste the earl grey he'd had at the café on his lips still, and it made her smile into the kiss.

They broke apart gently, keeping their faces close enough that he was just brushing his nose against hers. She bit her lip again, this time meeting his gaze directly, blush still on her cheeks and warming her face.

Carefully, he leaned in again and pressed his lips to her again, pulling away after only a second and releasing her elbows, a goofy grin on his face. "Until next time, Rose Tyler," He said before turning and walking away.

Rose watched him go for a few seconds, pressing her fingers to her lips and watching what she decided was a delightfully fit backside before she grinned, shook her head, and made her way into her flat to wait for her mum.

John felt like he was walking on air as he walked back to his flat, a grin seemingly permanently on his face. He was whistling a jaunty tune when he arrived at his apartment, swinging his hips and bobbing his head as he unlocked the door and made his way into his flat.

"Now _that_ is the sound of a man coming home after a great date," his flat mate, Jack, smirked from his position on the couch, headset on and controller in hand. For all intents and purposes, he was focusing quite intently on the video game on the computer screen in front of him, but there was no way he was going to let John get away with _that_.

John snorted, neither denying nor otherwise. He grabbed his own headset and controller and set up next to Jack, waiting for him to finish this particular match so that he could join him.

"Seriously though, man, how was it?" Jack asked as he blew up a building in the video game, his tongue sticking out slightly as he focused.

John sighed. "It was incredible, Jack. She's just…brilliant. She's really _, really_ brilliant." John felt butterflies in his stomach at the very thought of Rose, and he grinned widely as he looked at his friend.

Jack smiled. "That's great, John." He clapped his friend's shoulder, grinning broadly. "By the way, Martha wanted you to call her."

John groaned, leaning back against the couch and rubbing his face with his hands, as though the very thought of calling Martha was exhausting. "Did you know she told Rose that she and I were on a date the other night?" John told Jack bitterly, thinking back to how uncomfortable Rose had been at the beginning of their date.

Jack snorted. "She never said that, no. But I met her the day after the concert and she was complaining about how you were drooling over some other girl on your date."

John sighed, exasperated.

"I told her it wasn't a date," Jack continued. "She seemed…confused."

"I swear, I don't know how to make it clearer to her that I'm not interested." John moaned, frustrated. His good mood couldn't last forever, he figured.

"Just tell her. She's a good kid, she'll get it." Jack advised. "If you wanna call her now, I'll wait for you before starting the next game."

John clapped Jack on the shoulder appreciatively and pulled his phone out of his pocket, standing and going into his room for what he assumed would be a pretty painful conversation. He closed the door behind him and hit the _call_ button under Martha's contact information.

"Hello?"

"Hey Martha, it's John," John said needlessly, knowing that his name would have popped up on Martha's cell but wanted to introduce himself anyway. "Jack said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Oh, John! Thank you so much for calling," he could hear relief in Martha's tone. "Listen…I just wanted to apologize." She admitted.

That got John's attention. "Apologize?"

"Yeah, I –" he heard her take a deep breath before continuing. "I realize I might have been slightly…presumptuous…the other night. I read more into it than I should have, I know that. And I'm really sorry if I made you or Rose uncomfortable."

"That's…thanks, Martha." John relaxed.

"I hope we can still be friends." Martha said nervously. "I really didn't mean to make Rose think badly of you, if she did. I really did think that…" _that we were on a date_. She didn't have to finish her sentence.

"Of course." John smiled, glad everything was sorted. "I'll talk to you later, Martha."

"Bye, John. Thanks for being so understanding."

They hung up, and John felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He made his way back to the couch where Jack was waiting, fiddling on his phone. When John sat, Jack regarded him with raised eyebrows, not saying anything. John grinned, which seemed to satisfy his flat mate, who nodded and returned to the menu of the game to start a new one.

John felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening the message.

 _Do you like bowling?_

John felt excited knots in his stomach when he saw the name of the sender. He grinned widely.

 _I love bowling._

 **End.**

 **Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please review, let me know what you thought!**


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